


The Moon and The Tide

by BleedingInk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Love at First Sight, Summer Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingInk/pseuds/BleedingInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg doesn't believe in things like love at first sight and wish-granting candles. But she still lights the candle her friend Pamela gave her because, well... last year, she met Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Meg lights the candle before she leaves.

It’s not that she believes in those things, because she certainly doesn’t.

But then again, the previous summer certainly turned out a lot different than she expected.

It’s a tradition she upholds ever since her first book sold out and she found herself with more money than she knew what to do with. It had been a very stressful year, with the signing tours and the conventions her agent Lilith had dragged her to, and Meg needed to unwind and find inspiration for her follow-up novel. So she decided to go somewhere, have a vacation, relax her mind a little. The only problem was she didn’t want to deal with anybody else while doing that.

She discovered the cottage one late night on the Internet. It belonged to a grumpy old man named Bobby Singer who had built it for his late wife. It was placed in a secluded part of the beach, and the nearest house was abandoned and several miles away, so Meg found the isolation she was craving and spent three idyllic months reading in the beach, swimming in the sea, staying up all night writing and not talking to a single person.

She had loved it, and convinced Bobby Singer to rent the cabin to her every summer.

It’s not that Meg doesn’t like _people_. She just doesn’t like them when they’re talking all the time and all up in her business. She’s tried to explain Lilith that she can’t muster the concentration to write in crowded hotel rooms and back stages, but does she listen? And since her books started to get notoriety, it’s got even worse: people recognize her in restaurants and stores and such. Meg doesn’t have a problem signing a random book for them from time to time, it’s that sometimes she gets lost in her thoughts and being brought back so suddenly… it unbalances her.

Perhaps that’s why she likes her friend Pamela so much, with her yoga, her incense sticks and her supposedly wish-granting candles. She’s so zen and doesn’t even care when Meg goes quiet, and never probes her to keep on talking. When she does talk, Meg usually tells her things she probably wouldn’t admit to anybody else. Like that the fact that she’s lonely doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel alone sometimes.

“I’m never gonna find someone at this rate,” she told her that afternoon last year, a week before she left for the cabin. “Perhaps I’ll become one of those old hermit writers no one knows if they’re still alive or not.”

She was joking, but Pamela stared at her from above her cup of tea, like she was reflecting on something. Then she got up, opened one of her adorned wooden boxes and pulled out the candle. It was silver and blue, and adorned with little crescent moons all over.

“Listen, before you leave, light this and make a wish,” she instructed Meg, handing it to her. “Then blow it off and wait for the smoke to fade away.”

“What?” Meg laughed, examining the candle. “How is this going to help me out?”

“It’s for attracting good things,” Pamela said. “Wishes do come true, Meg. But sometimes you gotta give the universe a little push.”

Meg did it, not because she expected her wish to come true, but part to please Pamela and part because she had nothing to lose.

And she was sure it had nothing to with it at all, but that had been about the time Castiel had walked into her life.


	2. Chapter 2

Meg is speeding down the highway, with the windows rolled down and her bags rattling in the backseat. She doesn’t want to reminiscence, but she has four hours to do so, and now that she’s coming back to where it all began, her mind drags her there, to the morning when she met him.

It was sunny, but there was a light breeze blowing, so Meg was wearing a light white dress on top of her bikini. She had installed her deck chair near the sea, and after applying generous amounts of sunscreen, she sank her teeth into her book (The small town’s bookstore doesn’t have a varied collection, so Meg always makes sure to bring along enough reading material to last the whole summer).

For the first hour or so, nothing had disturbed her, and Meg was just starting to get that feeling of calming solitude she loved when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught something moving among the waves. At first she thought it must have been a seal or a dolphin, but upon taking a better look, she realized it was a swimmer. He was so far away all she could make out was his dark hair and his arms, black shorts and legs coming up and sinking down again rhythmically.

At first, it annoyed her. This was _her_ beach, _her_ ocean. Nobody ever came around there. Why the hell was this, this… human being, disturbing her sacred me time? But after a moment of watching him, she returned to her book. It was obvious the man was in his own world of water and salt, and well, she’d had enough practice in her life to abstract herself from minor distractions. If she didn’t let him bother her, then it shouldn’t be a problem.

But it turned out her curiosity was stronger than her desire for isolation. She read a few more pages, and looked up again. The man was getting closer now, and she caught a glimpse of the muscles in his back and what she thought was a little smirk on his face. He was completely lost in his exercise, letting the sea carry him away and bring him closer to the shore again. At one point, he even started floating on his back and remained there, completely immobile until a wave turned him over. When he emerged again, a cheerful sound reached Meg’s ears: his laughter, clear and joyful, like a child’s.

It made her smile. She had no idea why, but this complete stranger and his laughter made the morning seemed a little brighter and the ocean a little wider. How could the world not be a splendorous thing when there were men with the capacity to laugh like that, so carelessly, so delightfully?

After that, she couldn’t return to her reading, and decided to watch him play and frolic with the sea foam. She was tempted to approach him, but she didn’t want to interrupt him. However, the stranger must have felt her eyes boring into him, because a moment later, he started coming closer and closer, until he reached the sand and made his way up to her.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a towel, would you?” he asked, bracing himself and trembling a little. Meg happened to have one, since she had been thinking of going for a swim later as well.

“Should you be getting in the water in those conditions?” she asked him before she could stop herself. The man wrapped himself in the towel and shot her a confused look. “With your throat and…”

“Oh,” he understood, and showed her a radiant smile. “No, I’m not… that’s just how I speak.”

Well, nobody could blame Meg for thinking it. The guy’s voice was rough and hoarse, and for a second, Meg wondered how it would sound growling her name. She shivered and told herself to stop having stupid thoughts.

“I’m Castiel, by the way,” he introduced himself.

“Meg,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

His hand was wet, but firm. His hair was dripping, and he shook his head a little before rubbing it energetically with the towel. Meg used that moment to take a good look at him. His skin was golden with a light tan and his body was lean and muscular, but not bulky. But the real cherry on top was the moment he walked two steps towards her to give the towel back, and she could see his deep blue eyes. Holy shit, the guy was insanely attractive.

“So… you from around here?” Castiel asked.

“Yes… no,” Meg blinked and forced herself to pay attention. “I’m renting the Singer Cottage,” she explained, with a vague gesture towards the house.

“Oh, we’re neighbors then,” said Castiel, and distractedly ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it even more. “I recently moved to the… the other cottage. It doesn’t have a name.”

“I thought it was in shambles,” Meg commented.

“It was. It is,” Castiel admitted. “I’m renovating it. I’m an architect.”

“That’s cool,” Meg said. What she was thinking was _“Could you please stop being so perfect?”_

“Yeah, okay,” Castiel cleared his throat and waved his hand, awkwardly. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

Before Meg could react, he had already started to walk away. Meg would have left it there. Looking back, maybe she should have left it there. It would have save her tons of regrets and heartbreak to leave it there.

But of course, she didn’t.

“Hey… Cas,” she called him, unsure if he’d get mad for the familiarity she was treating him with. “Would you… like to come for dinner? I know this place can be a little lonesome.”

“Yes, that’s kinda why I picked it,” Castiel commented, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh… dinner, yes. Dinner sounds great.”

“Seven thirty?”

“I’ll be there,” Castiel promised.

This time when he turned around, Meg started collecting her things with her heart about to jump out of her chest. What the hell had she done? This wasn’t like her! She didn’t meet guys on the beach and invite them over for dinner! Oh, God, this was like straight out of one of her novels.

She ran back to the cottage, making a mental list of all the things she needed: actual food, to begin with (damn her habit of living of coffee, ramen and microwavable pizza during those months), oh, and a mantelpiece, and dammit, something to wear, because her summer wardrobe was designed to be comfortable, not for dating.

_Who said anything about a date?_

Meg reached the door of the cottage and took a deep breath. Right. Not a date. Just a… friendly dinner with the friendly neighbor. No reason to be nervous about that.

She was about to close the door behind her when she distinguished Castiel’s figure in the distance, letting the water reach his feet and looking distractedly at the horizon. Then all of the sudden, he jumped, waving a euphoric fist in the air, and Meg shook her head at how adorable he was.

Who was she kidding? This was totally a date.

 

* * *

 

 

Meg parks her car in the gas station, and buys a sandwich and a coffee while the tank is filling up. She eats absentmindedly, staring into the still empty road ahead. If this was one of her novels, the heroine would be sighing, remembering her loved one’s eyes and comparing it to the clear sky above her. But that wouldn’t be right. Castiel’s eyes were a tiny bit darker, more like the sea at sundown. Christ, this is going to be a very long summer if she keeps finding reminders of Castiel at every turn.

Then again, is not like she’s trying to forget.

 

* * *

 

Running errands in the small town near the cottage was always an adventure. People knew about her, they knew she was the weird writer who spent the summer at the Singer Cottage, and sometimes they would stare at her like she was an alien who had landed among them in some sort of spectacular UFO crash. Meg didn’t mind, but that day the stares had been particularly intense because it was the second time in a week she showed her face around there, and because instead of only buying the usual junk food, she had asked for directions to a clothing store.

So when she returned, she was flustered and second-guessing this whole date-but-not-really thing. She would have called Castiel to cancel if she’d had his number, but she didn’t, and walking all the way to his cottage to tell him she’d change her mind would be rude.

The universe didn’t seem to want her to back down from this.

She cooked dinner (fuck, she’d forgotten to ask if he was vegetarian or allergic to something), cleaned the place, showered, put on the dress she’d bought, and by a quarter past seven, she was sitting in the small living room, looking at the grandpa clock on top of the chimney with anxiety.

At exactly seven twenty eight, there was a knock on the door.

Castiel was standing there, in black jeans and a white shirt, completely unaware of how handsome he looked and how Meg had to make an effort to prevent her brain from going haywire.

“Hello,” he greeted her, and nervously lifted the plastic bag he had in his hand. “I… I’ve brought desert. I hope chocolate ice cream is okay.”

“I love chocolate ice cream,” Meg said. “Come in. Make yourself at home. I’ll put this in the freezer and pour some wine while the dinner heats up.”

“What are we having?” asked Castiel.

“Meatballs and pasta.”

“Oh, I’m… vegetarian.”

Meg froze.

“How much of a vegetarian?” she asked, with a grimace.

“Well, I’m profoundly convinced of my beliefs,” he deadpanned. “I can enlighten you about the benefits of not eating meat.”

There was a moment when Meg was almost relieved, but that wasn’t exactly the emotion that showed up in her face, because Castiel shook his head and smiled again.

“I’m just playing with you, Meg.”

“Dammit,” she muttered, as she went in the kitchen.

“Wait, would you rather me being a vegetarian?” he asked. He didn’t follow her, but the cottage was so small that no matter where he was standing, she could her him.

“Yes,” she admitted. “And I’ll have you know I am actively trying to find out your defects.”

“Why?” Castiel sounded amused.

“Because that’s what women do in the first date,” Meg explained, matter-of-factly. She stopped for a second. Okay, she’d said it. The cat was out of the bag. She listened carefully, almost expecting to hear the door and Castiel’s footsteps in the porch as he ran for the hills.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Castiel said. His voice seemed to be coming from somewhere on the living room. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Well, I’ve ruled out asshole vegetarian,” Meg said, uncorking the wine. “Serial killer would be up next.”

“I’m not a serial killer.”

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say,” Meg joked, but she got no reply. Concerned that this time he _had_ ran away, she walked into the living room holding the two glasses.

Castiel was standing next to her desk, which, as usual, was a chaos of notebooks and used pens. Her laptop was there too, buried somewhere among the papers. Castiel had her most recent novel in his hand, and was analyzing it with his mouth slightly ajar.

“You…” he said, holding up the cover, where there was a picture of Meg in black and white. “You’re Meg Masters.”

“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged.

“ _’Oh, yeah?’_ ” Castiel repeated. “You’re a famous writer and you…?”

“I’m not famous,” Meg protested. Was she blushing? She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “But if I were, would that dissuade you from killing me?”

“I’m not a serial killer,” Castiel insisted, rolling his eyes but smiling again.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Meg decided, and offered him a glass. “And are you completely sure you’re not a vegetarian?”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “In fact, I have a deep-seated love for red meat.”

He said it like he was declaring a most grave business, and Meg giggled at his tone.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said, raising her glass. Castiel toasted with her, grinning.

The date went as well as one could expect from a first date. Better. It went even better.

Meg’s food turned out to be eatable, for once, and the conversation flooded naturally, something that literally never happened to her. She was never able to hold a conversation for too long before running out of things to say or getting the certainty she was boring her listener.

But not with Castiel. He listened to every word she said like they were fascinating, and he always had a follow-up question prepared.

“So did you always want to be a writer?”

“Actually, no,” Meg confessed. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a pirate. I had this book about Mary Read and Anne Boony, and I wanted to be as badass as them. Then I found out there were no more Spanish galleons to rob, and I figured _‘Oh, I might as well write about it.’_ ”

Castiel laughed heartily, and Meg felt a pang of guilt for not telling him the whole truth.

“I never meant to publish anything,” she confessed. “I started writing in college, and it was just for myself. Then my friend Pamela convinced me to send my manuscript to an agency and they liked. They took it to an editorial, and everything kinda blew up. Before I knew, I had a five books deal offer.”

“That must have been great,” Castiel pointed.

“I hated it,” Meg said, bluntly. “Not the idea of getting paid for writing, of course. I love writing. I hated having to do everything else: the long tours away from home, the interviews, and the signings. If I could write from a tower somewhere far away, I would’ve been terribly happy, but Lilith insisted I needed to interact with my readers and promote my books, and after having that argument fifty times or so, I gave in.”

“So this is your tower far away,” Castiel guessed.

“Yeah,” Meg said, and she felt incredibly happy that he’d understood it. “I love this place. The only problem is I can’t stay forever.”

Castiel opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He apparently ran out of questions, so Meg decided to move before it got awkward.

“I’m going to put these in the sink,” she said.

“Oh, here,” Castiel stood up.

“You don’t have to…”

“Please, Meg,” Castiel insisted, and started picking up the dishes Meg couldn’t reach in time. “You cooked. The least I can do is helping you with the dishes.”

Meg sighed, frustrated. “You’re making the whole finding you a defect thing really hard on me.”

“Sorry.”

So, that was a thing Meg could say for sure she’d never done on a date. They spent the next fifteen minutes in the kitchen, in absolute silence, rinsing and drying. Castiel rubbed the sauce from the plates with a frown of infinite concentration and looked offended when he didn’t manage to get rid of it. Meg wanted to kiss the little crinkles around his eyes, and if a part of her noticed she was falling for him already, well, it wasn’t like she cared.

“So what’s your story, Cas?” she asked when they were done, with a bowl of ice cream each. She’d kicked off her shoes and curled up a little closer to him. “What brings you around here?”

“Work, actually,” he said. “I was hired by the town to supervise a series of renovations and new buildings. The mayor is thinking about constructing a new high school and there are some private investors who want to install a mall and an inn. Make the town a little more attractive to tourists.”

Those words made Meg visibly shiver. More tourists? Did that mean there would be people invading her beach and her ocean and littering so much all the seagulls would choke and such…?

“Don’t worry, it’s not even official yet,” Castiel laughed, like he was reading his mind. “I’m sure your lonely tower will stay just like that for years to come.”

“Okay,” she sighed. And then what Castiel had said fully sank in. “Riddle me this, if it’s not even official, how come you’re already here?”

“Well… when I said I moved to the other cottage, I meant that I own the place,” he replied. “I’ve always wanted to live near the sea, so when I saw it, I just knew. I bought it at a ridiculously low price, but all the renovations are going to take its toll on my savings.”

“So you’re renovating it for yourself?” Meg asked. “You’re staying there, permanently?”

“That’s the plan,” Castiel confirmed, and took a spoonful of ice cream before looking back at a now completely still Meg. “What?”

“I have never envied another human being as much as I envy you right now,” Meg declared. “I must’ve offered to buy this place from Singer thousands of times, but he won’t hear about it. It never occurred to me the other cottage was for sale.”

Castiel chuckled, looking away for a moment. Then, he turned his gaze back to Meg and his expression was completely serious:

“Is it selfish on my part to say I’m glad you never asked because then I wouldn’t have met you?”

Meg was taken aback. She opened her mouth, but her mind was blank. Before she could come up with something, then the familiar bells of the clock started echoing around the living room.

“Oh, it’s… midnight.”

When had it got so late? By Castiel confused expression, it was obvious that time had flown for him too.

“I should probably…”

“I think it’s best…” Meg started at the same time, and they both went quiet.

None of them wanted to end their conversation, but the beach was dark and the tide was probably rising, so yes, Castiel should go home. They stood awkwardly on the door, not sure where to go from there.

“Well… goodnight,” Meg said, opening the door for him.

“I enjoyed this evening a lot,” Castiel said, and took a step that was half towards the door and half towards Meg, if that was possible.

“Me too. We should do it again,” Meg said, as casually as she could.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “I’ll… go now.”

“Okay.”

None of them moved, and Meg decided they were being utterly ridiculous about it, so she took a step forwards, and planted a light peck on Castiel’s lips. She wasn’t expecting her heart to start racing or the rush of adrenaline that went to her head or the hungry look that appeared in his eyes a second before grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close. She felt his fingers running through her hair a second before their lips clashed again.

Meg closed the door and Castiel didn’t go home that night.

 

* * *

 

Regardless of what happened afterwards, Meg will always hold the memory of that following morning very close to her heart. She had slept with guys in the first date before, and even had the occasional one night stand. She either woke up alone with a headache or to a very uncomfortable conversation, and she’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t do it again.

But Castiel was different. Castiel was the exception to every rule she’d set.

She woke up with her face buried in his neck, their legs tangled under the sheets and the sun coming in through the window, bathing Cas’ peaceful expression. When he felt Meg shifting, he opened his eyes and offered her a lazy smile.

“Good morning,” he muttered.

“Morning,” she purred, as he turned to lie on his side and look at her better. His eyes were bluer and wider than the night before, if that was possible. “So, I was wondering if you’d like to have breakfast… and just go back to bed again…”

“I would like that very much,” Castiel said and moved to kiss on her on the cheek. Then, he froze. “Wait, I… can’t.”

“Why?” Meg asked, and for a second, it was like she missed a step coming down the stairs. Had she misjudged the whole situation? Had last night been one-sided?

“I got builders and carpenters coming over,” Castiel explained, wincing like the mere idea of getting out of bed and deal with that was obnoxious. “Ugh, I completely forgot about that.”

He sat on the bed, and rubbed his face a couple of times.

“Okay,” Meg said. “Maybe I can go over there later…”

“No!” Castiel jumped, and there was absolute horror in his face. “No, don’t do that?”

“Gonna go with why?” she frowned.

“The place is a mess,” Castiel confessed. “I don’t even have furniture there yet. I don’t want you to see it like that.”

Meg felt a pang of tenderness on her chest. Castiel was being protective of the house the same way she’d be protective of a first unfinished draft: it simply was not suitable for someone else’s eyes yet. Then she registered the other thing he’d said.

“Wait, if you don’t have furniture, where are you sleeping”

“I’m kind of… camping in the living room.”

Meg bit the interior of her cheek hard at how humiliated Castiel looked for having to admit that.

“I was just so anxious to get here,” he explained, open his hands in defeat. “I didn’t think it’d be all that uncomfortable, I mean… stop laughing at me, Meg.”

“Okay,” Meg breathed, suffocating a last couple of giggles. “Okay. Sorry.”

Then she got the mental picture of Castiel wrapped up in a sleeping bag and began laughing again. Castiel just gave her the most overdramatic eyeroll she had ever seen, and started looking for his clothes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Meg repeated, and she got up, dragging the sheet with her. She didn’t know why, Castiel had already seen her naked after all. “Hey, you know, if you want to sleep in a decent bed, you can do that here.”

“But where would you sleep?”

Meg repressed her laughter, and just raised an eyebrow at him. It took Castiel ten seconds to get it.

“Oh… oh,” he said. “Are you… sure?”

“Yes, of course.” She put a hand on the back of his head and kissed him in the edge of the lips. “Why the hell not?”

“The renovations are going to take some time,” Castiel pointed.

“I’m gonna be here some time,” Meg shrugged.

There was moment of hesitation in which Meg felt once again she was going to fast about this, but then Castiel smirked.

“I’d love to stay.”

He left after a quick coffee, with the promise of being back as soon as he could. For the next ten hours or so, Meg wrote hysterically to prevent herself from overthinking and freaking out. However, when Castiel showed up at her door again, carrying a small bag with his clothes and looking every bit like a lost kitten, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him into oblivion.

And those ten hours were the longest they spent apart that summer.


	3. Chapter 3

Meg can’t hold back her smile remembering the face of the local pharmacist at how often they dropped by to get condoms. If Meg is being honest with herself (and that morning, as the sun shine in her eyes and the shore appears to her right, she feels particularly inclined to be so), that summer she had the best sex of her life.

Sometimes they would do it frenetically, like there was some sort of deadline looming over them – and maybe, in a way, there was – and there would be a lot of hair pulling, biting and scratching involved. They always ended up with swollen lips and wondering how did get those new bruises on their elbows and thighs.

Other times, they would take their time. Castiel had a special way to worship her body, tracing his finger across every inch of her skin, kissing and nibbling all her sensitive spots, teasing her until she was begging for it. And yes, the memory of that time he sat her in the kitchen counter and kneeled between her legs will forever be a favorite of hers whenever she’s unable to fall asleep.

There were some epic fails too, of course, like when they found out the shower at the cottage was definitely not big enough for two, and when they tried making love in the beach at sundown. They concluded that the idea was very romantic, but the skin rashes and the sand getting in their asses deemed it impractical.

But as amazing as it was, the sex wasn’t the best part of their relationship.

If someone puts a gun in her head and forces her to say what she misses the most about Castiel, Meg will have to say it’s waking up by his side. Just seeing him there, hearing his breathing and feeling the warmth of his arms around her. Or the hours they spent cuddling, without saying a word, while Castiel ran his fingers through her hair and she stared into the impossible blue of his eyes. She knew they were both thinking the same: that this was too good to be true, and they needed confirmation the other hadn’t vanished while they slept.

She misses being at her desk, wearing nothing but her panties and one of his shirts, writing or chewing her pen, and hearing his footsteps behind her. He would always bring her a cup of tea, kiss her in the temple and walk away again, like he knew that was Meg’s moments to herself and he had no reason to be jealous of her characters, because she always would go back to him at the end of the day.

She misses the long walks with the sea licking their feet as they collected colorful stones and shells. She misses reading out loud, with Castiel’s head on her lap and the shining in his eyes while he watched her without paying an ounce of attention to her words (he probably thought she never noticed, but she did). She misses the knock on the door that indicated he was done supervising the working at the other cottage, and now he was hers for the rest of the evening. She misses falling asleep to his heartbeat and doing it all over again the following day.

Ironically for someone who values silence so much, she misses their talks.

Castiel was decided to know everything about Meg, even when she assured him there wasn’t much to know. Her mother had passed away a few years back. She never met her real father, but she had hated her stepfather Crowley. No, she had no brothers or sisters. It was just her. She never married because she never met the right one, and then she got absorbed in her work. She wasn’t a real fan of music. She was a cat person. There was nothing she was particularly afraid of, except maybe spiders…

She stopped midway through that phrase, because it was a lie.

“Wait, there’s something even worse than spiders.”

It’d happened at one of her tours, and she was certain that was the reason she kept doing them, despite her complaints. She’d been in South Dakota, in an especially crowded little bookstore. She’d been tired and hungry, and really hoping the signing would end so she could have some dinner.

“And then this woman approached me,” she told Castiel. “At this point, I wasn’t even paying attention anymore, but to her, I had to. She was tearful, and _thanked me_. No one had thanked me before. I mean, they said ‘thanks’ when I handed them their copy back, but it was automatic. She _sincerely_ thanked me. She told me her husband had passed away recently, and that my books had got her through her grieving. And then she hugged me. I could tell how much she loved her husband, and how it hurt her to lose him. I kept thinking about her all that night, and now and then I still remember her, because…”

She stopped, struggling to find the words.

“Well, because I’m afraid I’ll never love someone so deeply that it’ll hurt me so much to lose them,” she explained. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Castiel said.

Castiel also had his share of sad stories. One time, he asked her to pass him a pair of socks and Meg found an odd object in his bag.

“You’re religious?” she asked, confused, holding the simple wooden cross.

He looked sad for a moment, sad as she’d never seen him before, and she was about to take the question back, when he said:

“That’s… complicated.”

He said nothing more, but when he returned that night, he brought more chocolate ice cream with him.

“It’s a story best served with something sweet.”

They sat on the couch in front of the chimney. The windows were open and they could see the stars glimmering above the darkened sea. Castiel took a spoonful and hesitated, like he was wondering how to begin.

“I grew up in a very conservative home,” he said. “And when I say conservative, I don’t mean just going to church on Sundays and saying grace before every meal. I mean hardcore Bible study and getting beat up if we dared put a toe over the line. I have four brothers and three sisters and we were one of the smallest families in the community. Our church said that Christ needed as many soldiers as we could provide and that women best served the Lord by constantly carrying offspring and obeying their husbands.”

“Wow,” Meg said. “Did you picket funerals?”

“No, but we did consider homosexuality to be the pinnacle of all sins because it was a sterile union,” Castiel let out a bitter laugh. “My brother Gabriel was the first to deflect. I was too young to understand why we couldn’t ask where he went or why any picture with him in it was removed from our albums. All I knew was I had three older brothers one day, and the next I only had two.”

He took a deep breath and Meg leaned forwards to touch his arm. “You know, you don’t have to…”

“No, I want… I want you to know these things,” Castiel said, turning to look at Meg. His eyes were shining and Meg had the impression he was at the edge of tears, but before she could take her question back, he cleared his throat and continued: “A few years later, my sister Anna met this girl named Ruby… and she fell in love with her. They ran away together. My father was furious, but since Anna was over eighteen, there was nothing he could do. He tried to give her the same treatment he gave Gabriel, you know, erasing every trace of her in our home and forbidding us from ever speaking her name.”

“I take it that didn’t stick.”

“I was closer to her than I was to Gabriel, since we were almost the same age,” Castiel explained. “We shared a lot of things. She was my best friend… so no, it didn’t stick. I stood up to my father, maybe for the first time in my life, and I told him Anna wouldn’t stop being my sister just because she made a choice he didn’t agree with. He backhanded me, threw me to the floor and gave me a bloody nose. And then I looked at him – I _really_ looked at him, this man I have idolized since childhood, whose word was law to me… and I said _‘You’re not God.’_ ”

Meg tried to picture it: a teenaged Castiel, with his face red and his blue eyes shining with fury and maybe a hint of fear.

“It was incredibly stupid,” Castiel commented. “I took the beating of a lifetime, and then I spent my senior year with everyone in my household completely ignoring me. They didn’t talk to me, they wouldn’t even look at me. You need to understand, we were monitored constantly and we were supposed to always be praying or talking about God with someone else to prevent each other from having ‘sinful thoughts’. I guess my father considered the silence would make me despair and apologize, but to be able to be alone in my head for once… it was so liberating.”

A little smirk appeared on his lips as he looked away into the sea.

“Then I graduated and Anna and Ruby took me in,” he said. “The world outside was kind of a shock; I never knew exactly how sheltered we were. I continue to struggle with it sometimes but… I never regret leaving.”

The ice cream had melted, completely forgotten in the coffee table. Meg wanted to put her head on Castiel shoulder, or maybe kiss him in the cheek and tell him just how brave she thought he was, but she had the feeling he wasn’t finished. He took the cross out of his pocket and toyed with it for a moment.

“This was in my room. We all had one. It was the only thing I took with me, because despite everything, I still believe in God,” he declared. “I believe in a loving, merciful God. I just stopped believing in the people who choose to hate in his name.”

“That’s a beautiful way to put it,” Meg said.

They stayed silent for a moment. Meg got closer and snuggled his neck. Castiel put an arm around her shoulders and held her close.

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you believe in?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “My friend Pamela, she’s very spiritual and she always talks about the universe and how it takes care of us, but I have a hard time linking lighting a candle and having a wish granted.”

She had just finished saying when it occurred to her she’d actually _had_ her wish granted. Castiel was there. If the candle was for attracting good things, maybe it’d worked at some level.

“You have to believe in something,” Castiel insisted. “Pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Aliens?” he suggested.

“Mermaids, maybe,” she joked. “I mean, I thought I saw one the other day.”

Castiel chuckled and looked away for a moment. Then, in his most serious tone of voice, he inquired: “Love at first sight?”

Meg didn’t even have to think about that one: “No.”

“You write romance novels and you don’t believe in love at first sight?” Castiel tilted his head.

“Not _one_ of my novels features love at first sight,” Meg declared. “Which you would know if you have read them instead of buying them for some ex-girlfriend of yours. There’s a defect!” she added, triumphal.

“I actually bought them for Anna,” Castiel admitted, looking down and pretending to be ashamed. “She enjoys them immensely. But I have read the summaries, and I know for a fact you’ve never written about lady pirates.”

“Well, you got me there,” Meg said, raising her hands in defeat.Castiel intertwined his fingers with her, and kissed her softly on the neck.

 

* * *

 

That had been about two weeks before everything ended. Meg clutches the wheel and speeds up. She doesn’t like this part. She doesn’t like remembering the harsh words and the tears. She knows now she could’ve handled it better, but back then she’d been freaked out and the way she walked out on him… well, it wasn’t her finest moment.

They had ten weeks in total. Ten magical weeks in which they carefully avoided asking what would happen once the summer was over, in which the future was a fuzzy, random place far away from them. Meg wanted to bring up the topic of whether they should continue their relationship, but she kept postponing the conversation because a part of her (the part that insisted this was all too good to be true, the part that didn’t believe in love at first sight and mocked Pamela’s reliance on her candles) was certain Castiel would tell her this had been a summer fling and that maybe it’d be best if they left like that once Meg returned to her home.

So when the exact contrary happened, it was only natural Meg’s first reaction was to flee.

“If I stumble onto something, I will hit you,” she guaranteed, as Castiel guided her with his hands over her eyes.

“Just another step,” he said. “You’re almost there. You’re not peeking, are you?”

“I’m not!”

“Okay,” Castiel pushed her a little. “Are you ready?”

Before Meg could say she was, Cas lifted his hands. Meg was dumbfounded. She had seen the cottage once or twice when it was falling apart, and it was hard to believe it was the same house. Cas had painted it all white and aquamarine, and added a small gallery in the front with steps that went directly to the beach. There were two swans flanking the attic window, and a small garage right behind it that made it seemed even more symmetric.

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding me? Cas!” Meg laughed. “This is like something out of a fairytale!”

Cas’ smile was wide and prideful. “Come on, see the inside,” he invited her, grabbing her hand and guiding her through the door like an excited child. “I still don’t have much furniture, though.”

Inside, the cottage wasn’t as cozy as the Singer one, but that might have been due to the fact that when Cas said he didn’t have much furniture, he meant none at all. Still, Meg loved the open space and the clear walls. The best part was when Cas unfolded the attic stairs and invited her to climb with him.

“This is too much,” Meg said, as she got closer to the window. It had a stunning view of the sea, and she could only imagine just how breathtaking a sunset would look from there. Castiel hugged her from behind and buried his nose in her hair. “Cas, I’m so jealous. This place is lovely.”

They stayed there a long while, and Meg wished (and wishes still) that they could have stop time right there. Cas started rocking her softly, like dancing at the rhythm of an inaudible song, or maybe at the rhythm in which the waves broke upon the sand.

“You know, you don’t _have to_ be jealous,” he said.

“What?” Meg asked, with a giggle.

“You could… well, I mean,” Castiel stuttered, and after swallowing, he blurted out: “You could live here with me.”

Meg froze, and then slowly took a step away from his arms.

“What?” she repeated. She’d heard him right, but she was giving him the chance to take it back before it was too late.

Cas missed the chance. “You could have your studio here,” he said. “Put your desk facing the window. I know it’s not very homely right now…”

“Cas, are you asking me to move in with you?” Meg interrupted him.

“I, uh…” Cas face went red, and he started fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “I’m actually asking you to marry me.”

The attic must’ve had an echo, because Meg could swear she heard those words on repeat several times before she could react.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I mean I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Castiel said. “I thought that was implied in the whole marriage thing.”

The joke fell flat, since Meg was simply too astonished to react.

“Cas, you’ve known me… for less than three months.”

“Ten weeks, actually,” he corrected her (that’s how she knows it was ten weeks and not three months round). “I know it seems like a short time…”

“Oh, you _think_?”

“… but I love you,” he continued. “I love you, and I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Meg had to cover her mouth with her hand for and stomp on her own foot, because she didn’t want to run away screaming like her first impulse was telling her to do.

“Meg?” Castiel asked, and the concern in his voice only hurt her further. “Are you…?”

“No,” she took another step backwards before he could put his hands in her shoulders. “No, I’m not okay. And I need you to be quiet right now.”

She paced back and forwards, trying to control the sudden turmoil in her head, all the thoughts so loud she couldn’t even hear herself. Castiel just waited, rooted to his spot, his arms hanging loose at both sides of his body. It was like he was just now realizing what a horrible mistake he’d made and he wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know how.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go on with this,” Meg said, finally.

“I do…”

“Not like that, Cas,” Meg protested. “That’s… that’s too much, too soon. You can’t love me. You can’t know you want to spend the rest of your life with me. I know you think you do,” she cut him off before he could protest. “But that’s just not how it works. What if you wake up ten years from now and you’ve changed your mind?”

“Do you want me to ask you again in ten years?”

“No, I don’t want you to ask me again, period!”

Meg never regretted something as fast and as deeply as she would come to regret those words. The hurt in Castiel’s eyes as he took a step backwards was amplified and worsen by the surprise in his expression. He took a hand to his chest, like he had been wounded somewhere around his heart, and remained immobile, blinking fast to get rid of the tears.

“I thought…” he started, but was unable to go on. He turned around, like he couldn’t stand the sight of Meg at that very moment. Then he took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost normal: “I… I understand. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Cas…” Meg was going to beg him to please not to do that, that they could still talk about it or work it out somehow. But then she realized it was useless. What they had was shattered beyond repair, and she had no one to blame but herself.

“I, uh… I’m going to need to pick up my things from your cottage,” he continued. “After that, I promise I won’t bother you any longer.”

“I’m sorry,” Meg said, but it was like putting a Band-Aid in a bullet hole.

“No, I… I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I misunderstood the situation.”

They stayed right where they were a few seconds more, until Meg couldn’t take it anymore and she fled downstairs and onto the beach. Once she was back at her place, she walked around the living room for twenty minutes or so, completely sure she was going out of her mind. Then, she picked up the phone:

“Yes, Bobby, hi,” she said, when they answered. She had to force her voice to remain calm. “Sorry to bother you. I’m gonna have to cut my vacations short.”

“Is there something wrong?” Bobby Singer asked.

“No, no, just… I need to be home a little earlier than I planned,” she lied. “I’ll still pay you fully, of course, but is there someone I can leave the keys with?”

Meg was well aware she was being a coward. She knew it when she wrote down Rufus’, Bobby’s friend, direction, and when she gave him Castiel’s phone number to let him now she was leaving. She knew it when she packed her things and turned the engine on. She knew it when she arrived to her apartment as the sun was setting. She knew it when she leaned over the wheel and cried so loud a passer-by stopped and knocked on the window to ask if she was okay.

She was not okay. She was in the middle of the instant realization she’d made a huge mistake by running.

But she simply couldn’t bring herself to face Castiel and what she’d done to him.


	4. Chapter 4

The cottage looks exactly the same as it did last year. Well, no, not exactly. Meg is pretty sure the porch handrails look firmer, and the paint of the façade has definitely been renewed. Bobby is waiting for her at the entrance with his usual frown, like every summer, so at least that hasn’t changed.

“Hello,” Meg greets him, as she walks up to him with her bag hitting her leg. “Place’s looking good, Bobby.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobby says, as he just now notices the small changes. “You got that kid from the other cottage to blame for that. He offered to do the repairs for free.”

Meg doesn’t know why she’s surprised. That was exactly the kind of thing Castiel would do, after all.

“Oh,” she says, with careful indifference. “Yeah, I met him last year.”

“He told me,” Bobby shrugs, but doesn’t offer any details on what Castiel’s told him. He gives the keys to Meg and picks up his own bag. “Have a nice summer.”

“Thanks. You too,” Meg says distractedly. She’s not sure how she’s supposed to do that, knowing that she can stumble on Castiel at any given moment. She wonders how long she can survive without stepping outside.

“Oh, and be careful tonight,” Bobby adds. “There’s gonna be a storm.”

Meg looks up at the radiant sky, and then back at Bobby with an interrogating expression.

“I know what I’m talking about, girl,” Bobby growls.

Meg raises her hands, indicating she’s not about to argue, and watches Bobby walk away. Then she steps into the cottage, and does the same thing as every year: puts her clothes in the closet, her books and her notebooks in the desk, her towels and her toothbrush in the bathroom. It’s a small ritual she likes to follow, like doing those things calmly lets the house know she’s here now, she’ll be staying there and there’s no reason to be sad about Bobby’s departure. Maybe it’s silly, but she always thought about the cottage as sentient, like an old friend who receives her with open arms so she can escape from the world and just rest.

This year, however, Meg cuts the ritual short. While she’s connecting her laptop, she notices something on top of the chimney, right next to Bobby’s grandpa clock, something that _shouldn’t_ be there. It’s a small, wooden cross, and she recognizes it immediately. Why the hell is it there? Did Castiel forget it when he went to look for his things? That couldn’t be. Did he leave it when he went to do the repairs for Bobby? That’s more likely, but why would he bring it along for that in the first place?

If Meg thought she could handle all the memories she knew were now trapped forever in the cottage, she’s just been proven wrong. Taking the little cross in her hands brings back a lot of images, of Castiel’s long fingers toying with it nervously as he tells her his story, of Castiel skeptic look when she told him she didn’t believe in anything, of the times they stayed there on the couch cuddling and making out…

Meg shakes her head. No. What are the chances? Maybe this isn’t even the same cross. Maybe Bobby had a spiritual awakening.

And maybe there are mermaids in the sea and pots of gold at the end of every rainbow.

She leaves it back where she found it and continues to put her things in order, but the cross attracts her gaze like a magnet. In the end, she can’t take it anymore. She grabs it, puts on a jacket (the afternoon has turned quite cold and windy; maybe Bobby was right about the storm), and leaves for Cas’ cottage. She’ll try to make it as short and painless as possible. She’ll ask if the cross is his and go back to her place. She imagines Cas doesn’t want to see her either, so maybe she’ll be doing him a favor by warning him she’s back.

Cas’ cottage looks the same as well. Meg hesitates before knocking for several seconds, and she’s just about to do something (whether is to go ahead or to turn around and run, she’s not sure and now will never find out), when the door opens and a gorgeous brunette woman walks out. Despite the weather, she’s wearing only a black bikini top and jean shorts. Her profile reminds Meg of a Greek statue, a sculpture so perfect is impossible to believe there are actually people like that, but alas, there she is. She looks at Meg and smiles.

“Hello,” she says, casually.

“H-Hi,” Meg stutters. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea she ever got. What was she thinking? “I’m sorry, I’m looking for Castiel…”

“Sweetie pie!” the woman screams, sticking her head inside the house. “There’s a chick here to see you!”

 _Sweetie pie_? Seriously? Meg doesn’t have time to feel as disgusted as she could, because then Cas appears and her train of thought crashes. He’s wearing his favorite dark grey shirt and jeans, and he’s barefoot. His hair is tousled as usual and he blinks in the light like he’s just woken up. Meg remembers that look. That’s the look of a tired Castiel, a Castiel that hasn’t slept all night.

“Meg?” Castiel asks after rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, you’re… Meg?” the brunette woman says, her eyes opening in shock. “Okay. I’m gonna go back inside now.”

She does just that, and Meg isn’t sure if that’s better or worse. Castiel stands there, staring at her astonished, and he makes no attempt to explain the other woman’s presence. Meg supposes he has no reason to, and she has no reason to ask.

“Hey,” she says, and she forces a smile like a pro. “I’m sorry to bother you…”

“You’re back,” Castiel blurts out, like he’s just now realizing this is really happening.

“Yes, yes I am,” Meg says, awkwardly. “I just, uh… I found this,” she says, raising the cross. “Thought you might want it back.”

“Are you serious?” Castiel seems surprised. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that.”

Meg hands him the cross. She’s careful not to touch his hand while doing it, but she still can’t avoid looking him in the eye. They’re shiny as ever, if a little red. He’s probably been swimming without his goggles again, and she feels like scolding him for it. Then she reminds herself it isn’t her place to do that anymore.

“Well, that’s all,” she mutters. “I, uh… I’ll go now.”

“Yes. Okay,” he says. He seems uncomfortable, and Meg doesn’t want to cause him any trouble with the brunette, so she turns around. “Meg!” he calls her. “It was good to see you.”

Why does he have to be such a gentleman? She would’ve preferred him screaming at her or kicking her out, but no, he has to act like she didn’t break his heart and all is well between the two. She can’t keep that charade, so she lies: “Good to see you too” and gets the hell out.

Well, what was she expecting? Of course Castiel has moved on. Of course he’s found himself a Greek goddess that calls him “sweetie pie” and walks around his house scantily dressed. She’s incredibly selfish and stupid for thinking he was going to stay hanged up on her. She has no reason to be annoyed or jealous, and yet she is. She feels the bile coming up from her stomach as she reaches the cottage’s door.

The wind is getting stronger, and a few minutes later, the first raindrops start thumping against the window.

Meg reads _The Fault in Our Stars_ and convinces herself she’s crying because of the story. What would Pamela say in this situation? Probably something along the lines of the sun rising again the next day. Meg looks at the angry black clouds gathering above the sea, and has trouble believing it.

The night falls almost imperceptibly, given it the sun had already disappeared, and Meg is just about to put some ramen in the microwave when there’s flash of light and a thunder roars. The cottage shudders, the light bulbs let out some sparks, and next thing Meg knows, she’s lost in utter darkness.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she protests.

She thinks about going out to check the generator, but the storm is growing stronger, and she’s not suicidal. Not yet, anyways. She fishes some candles form the desk’s drawers, and lights them up around the living room. Well, there’s not much she can do now. She adds some lodges to the chimney, and sits with her laptop in the couch, decided to write until the battery runs out. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches another lightning through the window and counts. The thunder never comes.

Meg raises her head, frowning in confusion. Now that she thinks about it, lightning isn’t golden and muffled. The glimmer she saw looked more like a flashlight. And she’s been hearing a knock on the door for the last minute or so, but that’s just the wind… isn’t it?

With a jolt, she realizes the knocking is too regular and too insistent to be the wind. There’s someone out there. It could be a lost tourist that got caught up in the storm. Or it could be a thief or a serial killer. That’d be the perfect icing of the shit cake that her day turned out to be. Meg grabs a poker and hiding it behind her back, she goes to open.

The water flies against her face, and for a moment she’s blind and irritated. Then she realizes who is the dark figure shivering at her door.

“What are you…? Come on in!” she shouts to make herself be heard on top of the howling wind.

The figures still hesitates for a second, so Meg grabs him by the arm, pulls him in and closes the door behind him.

“Cas!” she asks. “What the hell?”

“I-I…” Castiel begins, hugging himself and dripping all over the carpet. “I was worried…”

“You idiot!” Meg shakes her head.

She guides him to the living room and runs to the bathroom to get some towels and covers. When she returns, Cas is kneeling in front of the fire, trying to regain some warmth.

“Oh, God, you’re going to get sick!” she tells him, as she sits next to him, and without missing a beat, she throws one towel over his shoulder and puts the other on in his wet hair. “Cas, for fuck’s sake…”

She starts rubbing his hair energetically, and Cas just lets her do it. He’s far too cold to do anything else. Meg tugs the edge of his hoodie and she’s halfway from stripping him off it before she realizes what she’s doing, and she freezes. Castiel seems to understand, so he takes it off along with his grey shirt, and lets Meg wrap him in the covers.

“What were you thinking?” she asks.

“The power went off,” he explains. “I was worried you were here alone, in the dark, on a night like this.”

She doesn’t know if she should feel exasperated or moved, so she opts for the first one.

“You could’ve got electrocuted!” she says. “You could have…!”

“I’m fine, Meg,” he says. He sounds like a little child trying to tranquilize his overprotective mother. Meg throws her arms up in the air, defeated.

“I’m going to make some tea,” she decides.

It’s the only rational decision she can make right now. She doesn’t want to think he came all this way in a climate from hell itself just to check up on her. She doesn’t want to think she’s trapped there with Cas until the storm dies off. Luckily, Cas leaves her alone in the kitchen and she has long enough to collect herself until the kettle whistles.

Castiel is still by the fire when she returns with the plate and the cups. He holds one between his fingers and blows it off gently before taking it to his lips. Meg can’t stop staring. She knows all those little gestures by heart; she’s replayed them in her memory thousandths of times. It’s almost surreal to be seeing them again.

“Shouldn’t you… let someone know you’ve got here alright?”

“What?” Castiel squints in confusion, and then understands. “Oh. You’re right. Can I use your phone?”

Castiel spends the next five minutes being yelled at nonstop. Meg doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it’s almost impossible when the girl on the other line is making sure she’s heard from miles around. Castiel offers a few weak excuses, promises to return in the morning, and then hangs up. Meg is tempted to make a comment along the lines of “Well, she’s a shrew, huh?” but refrains.

They sit side by side in the couch, in a silence that grows more and more awkward by the second.

“Thank you for returning the cross,” Castiel speaks first.

“It’s okay,” Meg says. “I know how much it means to you.”

Castiel nods and sips his tea. “I… I read your book,” he says. “The one you published this year. I enjoyed it a lot.”

Meg thinks he’s going to make a joke about how it’s about a pirate girl and a sea god that fall in love and how so _not_ subtle it was, but he doesn’t.

“Thanks,” she mutters. They stay quiet again, and then: “How you’ve…?”

“What’s been…?”

They both stops, and maybe for the first time in the day, Meg smiles. They’re still both such fools.

“You go first,” she offers. “How you’ve been?”

“Good, good,” Castiel says. “Working. The construction of the high school already began. It’s been a busy year.”

No mentions of the Greek goddess. Alright, then.

“You?”

“Same old,” Meg shrugs. “Wrote the book, did a tour.” She pauses, unsure of how to bring up the topic. “Met a guy,” she admits finally.

“Oh,” Castiel hurries up the rest of his tea. “Is he, uh…?”

“He’s nice,” Meg says. “His name is Sam. He’s a lawyer. Very successful, hard-working. We got along quite well.”

Castiel looks mortified, so Meg gives him a break.

“And we broke up like four months ago.”

“Really?” Castiel tries not to sound happy about it, but fails spectacularly. “How come?”

“Well, he said I was judging him against unfair standards,” Meg explains. “Which is true, I guess. I can’t expect every man to know if they want to marry me five minutes after meeting me.”

Castiel lets out a small laugh, and toys with his cup. “In my defense, it was within the first twenty four hours,” he jokes.

“We slept together within the first twenty four hours of knowing each other,” Meg points.

“Yes, I remember,” Cas says. “The whole summer is pretty well imprinted in my mind, in fact.”

His smile falters, and Meg just knows he’s remembering the bad things as well. She leans over, and touches his arm through the covers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She doesn’t need to clarify what for.

He covers her hand with his and squeezes it.

“No, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I was unbearably passive-aggressive after you said no. And I should’ve run after you.”

“And I should’ve waited for you to run after me,” Meg says. “The way I just left… there’s not a day I don’t regret it, Cas. There’s not a day I don’t regret not staying to try and make things right.”

Well, she’s said it. For a moment, she refuses to look at Cas in the eye, but she feels his thumb drawing small circles on the back of her hand. It’s soothing and tender, and Meg just relaxes under that simple touch.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now,” she continues.

“What do you mean?” Castiel moves closer to her in the couch. His mouth is agape and his eyes shine bright with renewed hope. “Meg, you’re here now. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. We can try again, we can…”

“Okay, slow down a sec,” Meg cuts him off. “What about Aphrodite?”

“Who?”

“Aphro… the girl in your cottage,” she clarifies. “Sweetie pie?”

Castiel’s eyes open wide as the realization dawns on him. “Oh, you thought…”

He covers his mouth with his free hand, but he can’t suffocate the chuckles.

“What?” Meg asks annoyed. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he assures her. “Just, uh… I’m sure Ruby, my sister-in-law, will appreciate your opinion on her appearance very much.”

Meg blinks. “So who was screaming at you on the phone?”

“That would be Anna,” he says. “She’s got a bit of a temper.”

“No kidding,” Meg says. “They’re spending the summer with you? Where are they sleeping?”

“In my bed,” Castiel explains. “I took the couch.”

So that explains the sleepy look.

“Oh, Cas,” she begins. “Well, I’m so glad you finally got around buying some furniture.”

Castiel bursts out laughing, and it’s the most glorious sound Meg’s heard in a while. Immediately, she’s transported back to that morning where she first saw him playing among the waves, and her heart swells in her chest. She closes the distance between the two, and kisses him. Castiel reacts immediately, caressing her cheek and wrapping them both in the covers, like he can’t help it, like he’s drawn to Meg like the tide to the moon.

Outside, the storm is raging, but they can’t bring themselves to care.


End file.
